


I Like How He Smells

by ASignificantWhisper



Series: I Like How He Smells [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, takes place during the end of season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASignificantWhisper/pseuds/ASignificantWhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's hair doing that thing it does, the jeans he wears sitting so perfectly tempting on his hips. His cologne. Yeah, Ian likes the way Mickey smells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like How He Smells

**Author's Note:**

> What's this!? Gasp! Three chapters of something in a week, you ask? Hehe. So, those of you who know me are well aware that I'm a sucker for Ian and Mickey's hairstyles/styles in season 4 (ah, the golden season.) They are my aesthetic. I got to thinking at random, Ian likes the way Mickey smells. Mickey's got that delicious hair style with that one strand that always wiggled its way loose, so why not combine the two and write pure and utter filth at late hours of the night? And thus, here we are. Ian is worshipping Mickey the way he rightfully deserves it, and he's addicted to his man. It takes place probably around 4x10 of season 4. 
> 
> I hope this doesn't blow (what a pun, geeze. ;) ) but if it does, I tried. I haven't written smut for my two favorite characters in a while. Let me know how I did and if you want more parts to this series? And yes, the title is an Ian quote. ;P Comments and kudos if you like it? Find me at my Tumblr (wroteclassicaly.tumblr.com)

 

Mickey says something to him, a sentence that he regards coolly, but is lapsing into a slight panic. _If Mickey leaves will he come back?_ It's all washed away when Mickey flings that fitted gray t-shirt across his naked shoulder, fanning his scent, running a tattooed hand through his shiny wet hair. If he Ian wants to, he can slide his bottom a little off the bed, trying to catch those drops of water like a tongue to rainfall. The thought alone makes him giggle. _Mhm, wet Mickey._ Mickey's fresh from the shower, muttering a string of welcomed curse words about having to buy his own shit and hide it, so that Ian's siblings don't steal it. Ian wouldn't dare say otherwise that Mickey doesn't have to be let in on the fact that he could always use someone else's. Like Lip's or Ian's own. But whatever Mickey uses to make himself smell triple fucking times more intense than he already does, sweaty or settled, post sex - has Ian's mouth clamped shut, only hanging open to salivate. _What even is that smell?_

Mickey is spouting off something again, cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke briskly whistling through his nose as if the action is effortless. _Christ, does he even know what he's doing?_

Ian stretches an arm out, reaching for something on the dingy nightstand, coming across an empty Gatorade bottle. He's fucking parched. Needs..... something to quench this thirst. Licking his dry lips, Ian sees Mickey's bow legged figure retreating, stubbing out the half smoked cigarette on his way, perfect ass sitting pretty in the denim. Ian taps his impatient thumbs in patterns across his silk blue basketball shorts, but it's no good. All his fingers crave to do is sacrifice themselves to the inferno he's ready to light a blaze. A throat constricting inhalation of air gets Ian onto his feet, tongue licking across his teeth. He follows his... _boyfriend?_ Is that what they are? He smiles, joining Mickey's proximity, leaning his frame into the doorway to watch Mickey struggling with that rogue strand of jet black perfection a top his head. The shaved down sides, shaped by perfect sideburns entice Ian's libido right off a rocky stacked brink. He's falling, no way to come back now without getting a taste.

Mickey growls under his breath, tugging the shirt off his body, he unzips the bag he kept the stuff he bought in. Ian stares, his green eyes already feeling heavy - darting Mickey's dimples above his ass by a pinpoint focus. They're so nice to touch, bite into. Ian thinks he'll bruise them at some point. Mickey lifts his built arms, that dark patch of arm pit hair meeting the stick of deodorant. Ian is joyous, grinning from ear to ear. Mickey gets the other armpit, reaching for the opening act. He gives the black bottle a shake, his finger seemingly taking on slow motion to accompany him in spraying that misty musk out. Ian's cheeks hollow to a puffing breath. He's so alarmingly swimming in salacious appetite it's almost unreal.

Mickey slides his frame back into the fabric of his shirt, trapping the scent inside. Ian sways across the door trim, the wood digging uncomfortably into his side - that heaves against it, caused by temperamental breaths. Mickey has his hand in his hair, scrubbing, trying to comb through the glossy bowl. It flops just right, settles, that lone ranger of a piece deciding that it's the boss.

"Fucking bitch," Mickey snaps, jerking on the thing. "stay in your lane."

_Oh, Jesus, he's talking to his hair? And he says Ian's the dork in this two way Boystown._

There could be a symphony in here happening to accommodate the atmosphere that's rising, Mickey unknowingly spiking it each time he moves, reminding Ian of all things familiar. All things Mickey Milkovich. _Home._ The indescribable curve attaching itself to Ian's insides, butterflies pointing eagerly, yanking Ian's attention between his legs - screaming to him that he can't ignore it anymore. Mickey is a fucking tease. His fucking blue eyed cock tease. His fingers twitch, biking all over his shorts, so close to his hard cock. _Shit, how?_ He's got more stamina than he can ever remember having, and he's not even been touched or done the damn touching.

Ian's shrouded in the expanding cloud Mickey's cologne makes in the small confines of the Gallagher bathroom, guiding him to make his presence known to the older man. Mickey scratches at the buzzed hair underneath what he can't get to lay any better than he has it, which to Ian is nothing short of sexy as fuck perfection. He's very neat and orderly, Ian notes. Ian has good enough reflexes to arch back a little, not missing Mickey's knee jerk reaction.

"FUCK. Christ, man! The fuck you doin'? Didn't hear the floorboards even creak this time." Mickey's lips part to ghost a sigh through, his tongue licking at his milky white minty fresh teeth.

Ian can't think of any response. He's mum, steeled on bare feet to the cold tile floor. Mickey's sharp brow raises near his hairline, blue eyes squinting then widening.

"You guys put speed in your coffee here? Startin' to creep me out with that, cut it out." Mickey demands, a slight crack to his voice as he starts to figure it out mid-sentence. He knows Ian more than anyone. His expressions, his moods. That whole silent brooding thing was Mickey's way of calculating Ian, figuring him out in the first few months of their relationship. So it's no grand surprise he's accurately mastering knowledge about Ian's arousal.

Ian's got that fucked out look, that wild abandon that looks like it feeds off Mickey's energy alone. Mickey spares a look at the open door, Ian too sees around. Not a Gallagher, sans the near six foot ginger giant one - in sight.

Mickey can't find basic motor skills before Ian finds him, pinning him with immense rhapsody between the sink and his body. His cock is exquisitely hard, Mickey letting a low grumble rock his throat into vibrations. He's trying to catch his breathing up, but finds it far gone, flushed. Ian bruises his hips by pawing, grabbing. It brings their erections together, Mickey's head falling back to bare his neck on instinct in a brief moment. He's melting into this, just woke up state always causing him to take things more intensely after his body tries to turn itself on for the day. Ian relishes in how Mickey is hurting for him this quickly too. Just a hard handling force has Mickey ready to go.

Ian drops a hand, cupping Mickey through the jeans, his forehead meeting Mickey's, that strand of raven colored hair slapping him in the nose. Mickey is foggy in his luscious haze, biting at the air, licking at Ian's hot breath, eyes on him under sweetly rolled lashes, blue erupted into a thin ring to transport the color, sheathing the pupil blown black.

"Yeah?" Ian questions, palm nuzzling the erect zipper.

Ian's nail scrapes it, flipping it back and forth, Mickey hissing at the small action.

"What you wanna do to me, huh, army? Gonna do somethin'?"

Ian tastes the cocky smirk, kicking a leg back to flee the door over protesting hinges. It slams shut at a simultaneous second Ian pulls Mickey away from the sink, turning them back around, dipping his cold fingers down into the back of Mickey's boxers, palming his perfect ass. Brash gasping grasps Ian, realizing how much he appreciates Mickey in this moment. How much he missed him. How he went so long staying away. _God Mickey looks so fucking perfect, so different._ Hair the stunningly same. Ian nibbles at Mickey's shaven jawline, whispering dirty things to stay secret in the flesh.

"Love having my dick inside you, Mick. So good. Thinking bout' you all the time, oh god, fuck, do I ever." Ian soothes across the words.

"That right, Ian? It feel good? You come?" Mickey is playing the game that everyone wins at. Their game. Both boys have their eyes closed, rocking back and forth against each other, breathing in, breathing out.

"Every time. So hard. Ever since I met you, your name was on my lips. Mickey. Mick. " Ian tests the words out like his own personal prayer that they have come to be.

"You smell so fucking good. All over, want to taste it, fucking taste your skin." Ian crumbles to his knees like a starving man.

He pushes Mickey's pants and boxers down, gripping him around the backs of his firm thighs, pads of his thumbs stroking inside Mickey's knee.

Mickey whips into an arch, his cock in Ian's sight. Thick, warm, shiny at the head where Ian is already seeing the white bubbling out. Mickey clicks his tongue to his cheek, brushing his hand through Ian's hair in that gratifying way.

"Makin' a mess of my ass when I gotta go out, yeah? You get off on that?" His voice yielding silent holding and power, that progresses over Ian.

Ian nods, deliberately slicking his palm in languid licks, hovering above Mickey's cock in a petting motion, letting his bony knuckles flip, grazing the sensitive flesh. Mickey pulls the auburn mane tighter. Ian loves it, he glides weightlessly across pleasing Mickey. And right now it's all he wants to do. _Mickey._ Mickey's smell. Nothing else jumpstarts his brain waves more.

Ian wraps a careful hand around Mickey, lifting to tease, giving into squeezing him. He strokes, rolls his hand into a slight twist. Mickey holds his own lip captive, dripping with expectancy as he looks at Ian in that connecting plead, granting permission. Ian drops his wrist, snapping it to slide his damp palm down Mickey's cock several times. He gets a special scalp scratch when a singular finger runs down the underside of Mickey's dick, rubbing in circles, but an urgent whine for more.

Ian noses his way along Mickey's shaft, tongue chained right behind him. Mickey's hips stutter a little direct to the moment Ian's at the base, dark hairs tucked away right underneath that beautiful line where Mickey's hips end, his body shaping to his cock. It's fucking art to Ian. A drizzle of saliva strings from his mouth across Mickey, Ian nosing back and forth. "Smell so good."

Mickey's buzzing, blissed the fuck out already, gripping Ian's neck tightly.

Ian draws back, winded, holding Mickey's cock in his hand, looking up, he licks a stripe right over the slit, lips smearing the creamy white pre-come around the head, he encloses his lips, sucks hard, Mickey hissing through snapped teeth, his other hand cradling the side of Ian's throat to engross himself in the fascinating way Ian works his muscles to take Mickey down. They hold contact, blue fucking green, so ripe, so very raw.

Ian pinches Mickey's ass, nudging him a little deeper. He slips easily along his previous wet trail, breathing in Mickey, relaxing. His cheeks hollow, his other hand swivels down to encircle Mickey's balls, one by one. He edges a nail past them, tacking it through Mickey's V-line, tracing the crease rather sharply. Mickey bucks, caging Ian's head between his thighs. Ian welcomes it, high off it, agonizingly hard to just fuck into his hand or get up and rut his cock against Mickey's until they're both coming in his grip. He humps at the air, going for the finish, burning for it.

Mickey is thrusting himself against Ian, his thighs bumping Ian's cheeks, swirling him down the back of Ian's throat. Ian's lips are soaked in spit, salt from the water stinging his eyes from the girth he's hollowed out for. Mickey starts to move away, warning Ian. He's a gentleman Ian never pegged him for. Ian chooses that as his glory moment to seek his reward. He smacks Mickey's ass so hard, pulling his cheeks apart, keeping him to him, bobbing his head.

Mickey doesn't miss a beat, hot rodding off an invisible black top, fucking himself against Ian's mouth, the damn dirty talk flying free.

"That's so good, Ian. Yeah, you like me fucking your mouth? Fucking suck my cock. Just like that."

Ian is fluttering, writhing over the cold floor, his shorts providing no protection to hide his state. He's ready. Eyes steady on Mickey, he pulls his mouth down Mickey's dick until he's got the head again, lips red and swollen. He's ravaging Mickey apart by little licks over the slit, wiggling his tongue in this shape Mickey isn't aware is humanly possible for anyone other than Ian Gallagher to make.

Ian doesn't say much, not for a few more seconds. But then he's giving in, mouth slow and raspy with a hoarseness. "You come in my mouth and I'll let you inside me for the night?"

Mickey's wide eyed look is more than enough. Ian barely has his lips parted before Mickey's twitching in his guarding hand, his release spurting from him in a welcomed blanket over Ian's tongue. He's greedy, pumping Mickey, licking him through his orgasm. He smells so good when he comes. Ian laps at the salty taste, some pooling at the corner's of his mouth with his spit. He licks it all away, filtering back to clean Mickey off, placing him back into his tantalizing ensembles, no damage done to the jeans. They're both still panting, Ian shaking, burying his face in Mickey's neck to appreciate, worship that cologne, taste his.... _boyfriend._ He can call Mickey that, _right?_ Mickey doesn't have to know he labeled it.

Mickey keeps Ian close, kissing below the shell of the ginger's ear. They part, Mickey reaching for Ian. "Look at you. Got hot suckin' me off, aye?"

Ian's eyes are filled with affection, staring into Mickey's which reflect it. Still aroused, still aching, Ian shakes nods in agreement, but reclines backwards when Mickey tries to take him out of his shorts.

"Wasn't about me. Just wanted you to know how fucking good you look, Mick." Kissing Mickey's jaw to help himself briefly, he breaks to a pause. "You think about what I'll be doing to myself the second you leave. Getting ready for you tonight."

"You're gonna kill me," Mickey mumbles, pecking Ian's lips in a slow, deliberate dance. Breaking away, they open the bathroom door in time to find a huffing Carl, who pushes past them.

"Gotta piss, move. Shit, guys. What's that smell?" He stops, picking up the bottle of cologne from the sink.

Ian intercepts for Mickey, tossing it back to the smirking, barely there and flipped on, flushed guy.

"Mickey."


End file.
